Faithful Peace

Book 3: The Faithful Series

by Anna Bishop Barker

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Romantic Suspense; Friends to lovers

Synopsis

TAKING BACK HER LIFE WAS THE EASY PART. LEARNING TO LIVE WITH THE SCARS WAS NOT.

When she was twelve years old, they took her childhood and made her a wife.

Chattel.

Property.

When she was thirty-four, she crawled to her freedom. In Faithful, Tennessee she found refuge, safety, and family.

Esther Howard spent the next two years clawing and scratching through her nightmares to take her life back.

For those two years, he was there – a quiet, solid presence that never failed her—even when she pushed him away.

HE MADE HIS UNEASY PEACE WITH WHAT HE HAD.

John Valentine's life had been little bits of heaven and huge chunks of hell. Now he focused on his sons and the land and tried hard to curb the need to be more to a woman who did not want more of him.

Until the day he discovered that she did.

THE LEADER WOULD RECLAIM WHAT BELONGED TO HIM.

Eli Babylon had led the Brotherhood of The Father. He was the rightful Leader, and The Wife was his. He had earned her, and he would have her.

The reckoning was coming.

Release date: June 19, 2020

Publisher: Anna Bishop Barker

Print pages: 199

Content advisory: language, sexual content, inferred violence

Sample

Prologue

Esther at Twelve

Heavy footsteps fell across the room. Esther buried her head farther into her thin pillow and squeezed her eyes shut. She listened as the footsteps reached her cot and hesitated. She heard two voices speaking.

“She is promised.” She did not recognize the man’s voice.

“He has no right to choose the ripest to keep for himself.”

Her blood froze in her already cold body. She knew that voice. Brother Eli. He was the one who wore the big knife attached to his belt. She had seen his face as he looked at her when she had been brought before the Leader. His eyes on her had terrified her.

“Move on, Eli. She is promised. Today is not the day to begin the challenge. And the challenge will not be started over a mere wife.”

She heard the men breathing as they stood at the end of her cot. She held her own breath as fear wrapped itself around her stomach, becoming a physical pain. Just when she was sure she could no longer bear the silence and the sobs of fear clawing in her mind would erupt, the footsteps moved away.

Esther clamped the pillow tightly around her head and prayed for the Heavenly Father to strike her deaf so she could not hear the screams from Rachel.  She had a reprieve for now.  Rachel did not.

Two nights later, they assembled all in the dining hall.  Brother Eli had been anointed the new Leader.

Three nights after the assembly, they came for her.

The next day she was married to Brother Eli.

The next night no power in heaven or on earth could deafen her to her own screams.

Esther at Twenty

She was again unclean.  Esther took the extra garments and necessities she would need and left the main house for the women’s hut.  Silently, she gave thanks the time had come again.  She gave thanks every month when the time came.  For at least five days, she would be safe and alone.  For at least five days she had no dread of her bedroom door opening, no fear of his hands touching her, she would not need to swallow to keep from vomiting as she arranged her body as he directed.

It was a short reprieve, to be sure, and there was always payment to be made.  When she returned to the main house, he would question her, then he would make her stand in the middle of the big room he used as an office and meeting room.  He would make her stand with her eyes downcast as he directed the others, even the children, to walk around her and pray aloud for her sin, her shame, and her barren womb.  Then he would tell the others to spit on her, to hit her with the rods that were fashioned from the branches of the trees from the churchyard.  Some would relish the chore.  Some would thank the Heavenly Father that it was not them receiving the punishment.  Some would rage in their hearts against it. 

All would participate. 

Then he would take her outside to the cleansing chair.  She would be stripped; the brushes that were also used for the horses would be used to scrub the blood and the sin from her.  Then he, himself, would use the hose with the freezing, stinging, bruising spray to obliterate the uncleanliness from her.

Esther would accept all this.  Because in her heart, where none of them could violate her, she would rejoice her womb was dead.  In her soul, where none but God could know, her rage built.  In her spirit the longing, the anticipation of another, different life took root.

And there the seeds of reckoning began to grow.

Esther at Thirty-One

A sob tore from Esther’s throat. “I can’t. Laura, I can’t.”

Now that the time was here, the sheer, unadulterated terror of what could happen if this failed dug its claws into the pit of her stomach.  She had nothing and no one outside this compound.  If The Brotherhood found them, they would kill her friends.  Heavenly Father only knew what they would do to her.  Laura Howard squeezed her hand. 

“We planned for this, we’re ready, and Sam is waiting. He risked his life for us. We are not going to let him down.”  She turned to face Esther and grasped her upper arms in a steely grip.  Esther could feel their iciness through her shirt.

Laura’s face moved closer and her hold tightened until it was almost painful.  “You will not let them win, Esther.  Do hear me?”   Esther’s upper body moved as her friend shook her briefly.  “You will not let him win.  You did not survive this hellhole for this long to give up now.”

Esther felt a strange, unfamiliar calmness suddenly move over her, and she felt her legs might fail her; the release of panic was so profound.  The fear she had no one was not a true fear any longer.  She had Laura.  She had Sam.  They were offering her the chance her soul and spirit had longed for since she was a bride at twelve years old.  They offered the chance of freedom, the chance to decide for herself who fed her, clothed her, and touched her.

“Do you hear me?” Laura shook Esther’s arms even harder. Her voice was not coaxing, it was commanding. “Now, do you have the bag?”

Esther’s voice was quiet but steady. “Right here.” The edge of panic in her tone had receded.

“Good. Let’s go.”

 Esther – Eleven Days Later

She leaned against the porch railing, her arms crossed against her stomach, her head bowed as she struggled to drag breath into her lungs, feeling like there would never be enough air.  Terror and humiliation coursed through her body, making her legs shake and her hands tremble, her breaths rapid, sobbing hiccups.  She could feel the familiar tingling in her fingertips as the excess oxygen filled her body. 

Oh God, help me.  Help me.  Please.  The chant filled her head and she bowed her body toward the ground, doubling over at the waist as she tried to keep herself from flying apart.

She might have gotten through it if he had not stepped so close, with his hand coming toward her.  It did not always happen.  She knew perfectly well not all men, not every man, was Eli.  It was just that sometimes she was not ready.  This time she had not been ready, and when the tall man had moved to her to shake her hand, reality had faded.

“John, this is Esther.  Esther, this is my nephew John I’ve been tellin’ you of.”  Grace’s voice had been so sweet, so proud, so full of love.  It had not mattered.

Eli was tall.  Eli always moved slowly toward her.  Eli’s hands reached out when they wanted something from her. 

She turned to the balustrade and unfolded her arms, her hands reaching out to grip the wood so hard her knuckles were white.  She forced herself to breathe slower, willing her body into submission.

Oh God, help me.  Help me.  Please.  Please.  Please. 

She could finally feel the fear subsiding and humiliation roared to life.  What must they think of her?  Heat flooded her face and torso, wiping away the iciness there.  Would she ever be normal?  Would she ever not be afraid of so much that others took as nothing?  How could she ever hope to navigate this world and her place in it, if she could not do something as simple as meeting a man, shaking his hand?

Esther heard the creak of the screen door and without looking she knew it was Laura.

One Month Later

“I’m Skipper Valentine.  John Valentine is my dad.”  The little boy with the dark mop of unruly hair had maneuvered his small black and red wheelchair closer to the chair Esther was seated in.  “Aunt Gracie is my aunt.  My real aunt, not a fake one or anything.  Unca Kyle calls her Aunt Gracie, but she’s not really his aunt.”  The boy paused, an incredibly cute frown appearing on his face.  “At least, I don’t think she is.”

It was impossible not to smile at the little boy.  Softly she replied, “Hello, Skipper.  My name is Esther.  How old are you?”

The frown vanished and he grinned.  “I’m four years old.  But I’ll be five on my birthday on ‘tober fifteenth.  I’m going to have a party and get my own pony and a cake with Spiderman on it.”  She smiled at him again as he took a deep breath before going on.  “It’s gonna be at Unca Jake’s house.  Do you want to come?  Do you like chocolate cake?”

John – Three Months Later

He stepped out of the shower and pulled the thick gray bath sheet off the bar on the wall.  Rubbing his thick mass of wet, wavy dark hair, he walked through the door into his bedroom, moving the towel to swipe at his body as he went. 

She was here.  In his house.  Most likely asleep in one of his beds, that long, silky hair tangled in sheets he owned.  Jesus, he was so afraid this was a mistake. 

Not because he didn’t think she was capable of taking care of his kids.  Jake and Sam had both agreed she would be perfect for what his boys needed, and his friends loved his kids almost as much as he did.  He had watched her interact with Morgan and Skip for weeks, watched her as she talked to them in her soft, gentle voice.  He witnessed her voice becoming not so gentle the few times she had been called to rein in their exuberance or to break up the inevitable sibling argument.  His friends were right: she was exactly what they needed, what Esther herself needed.  His family needed a nanny.  Esther needed a job and a place to live. 

They needed.  She needed. 

He needed.

John threw the towel in the direction of the hamper.  Why and how was this becoming about what he needed?  He could not afford to need anything from Esther.  There were too many complications, too many people who could potentially be hurt.

She wasn’t beautiful.  She wasn’t hip, or clever, or sure of herself.  She wore baggy clothes and no makeup.  When she spoke, she sounded like an uptight, virginal schoolmarm from a hundred years ago.  She was damaged, traumatized, and untouchable.  He mentally listed all the things that were wrong with her.  But even as he did this, he knew at least part of it was a lie.

She was beautiful, even though it was in an otherworldly way.  She had wisdom and wit.  To survive what she had overcome, it was glaringly obvious she was both brave and strong.  John knew a thing or two about survival, about coming back to life, so to speak. 

Pulling a tee shirt over his head, he clenched his jaw tight.  Enough.  He did not have the time nor the energy to start mooning over a woman, especially not this woman.  Unbidden, a vision of Esther in a pair of tight jeans flitted across his mind, and he wondered what her hair felt like.

Chief of Police Sam Beckett – Approximately Three Years Later

A phone chimed.

“It’s mine,” Sam said.  “I swear to Christ, if it’s Tidbit, I’m gonna fire her ass.  I’m still on vacation until tomorrow.”

He reached and retrieved his cell off the kitchen island counter.

 “Beckett.”  The irritation in his voice was evident.  “Yeah.”  Pause.  “When?”  Pause.  “Who else knows?”  Longer pause.  “I can get up there by Tuesday night.  Don’t call her until you hear from me.  Do you hear me, Sanders?  I don’t give a shit what they said.  Do NOT call her until I’ve had a chance to sort shit out here.”

Faithful Police Chief Sam Beckett pushed his hand frustratedly through his sandy blond hair as he listened for a few seconds.  His voice was hard and his expression was even harder when he replied.

 “Sanders, Eli Babylon is a fucking monster who raped her when she was twelve years old.  She is going to be considered first before any fucking protocol bullshit.  Now you tell them I will talk to her, get things taken care of here and then I will be there on Tuesday.”

He slammed the cell phone down on the counter.  Then he turned back to his wife.  Just when he thought all the shit from his former FBI days was over, shit turned back up, and Eli Babylon was the worst shit.  He turned troubled, pissed, worried eyes to his wife, Delilah.

“I gotta go to DC Tuesday, babe.  Get dressed.  We gotta drive out to John’s.”

~~~~~~~~

Approximately fifteen miles away, a man sat in a truck outside the western fence line boundary of John Valentine’s horse farm, a pair of night vision binoculars to his face.  He watched her, sitting on the porch with a little boy in a wheelchair.

Watched and waited.  It was almost time to reclaim what belonged to him.

At last.